


Tickle Fight Wasteland

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Coffee, Desert, Desertpunk, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Alive, First Kiss, Fluff, Illustrated, Love Confessions, M/M, Meditation, No Angst, Post-Apocalypse, Prayer, Public Display of Affection, Religious Castiel, Romance, Science Fiction, Tickle Fights, Tickling, Ticklish Castiel, Ticklish Dean, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6550189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy post-apocalyptic Dean/Cas human AU. Castiel is trying to meditate when Dean decides that now would be the perfect time for a tickle fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tickle Fight Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I wanted to write the tickle fic that nobody had ever considered writing before. It's sort of like Fury Road meets The Force Awakens meets the schmoopiest, fluffiest Destiel fic ever. At this point I should just admit that weird fluff is my thing.
> 
> My thanks to my betas for all the support they've given me in, both writing-wise and emotionally. Especially Libby and Millie. But they're all a bunch of damn fine people, okay.

Giant hunks of debris littered the desert, spread out much further than the eye could see. Sand rippled over the dense shapes and formed immense hills and gullies, constantly changing with the wind. Parts of old ships protruded at the high peaks, while garbage and fractured bits of rubber tires lined the lowest points, all connected, like forgotten estuaries of a dried-out riverbed.

A tiny human figure stomped his way between a hollow airplane and a fallen crane. The plane was missing its walls, held no seats and had half an engine, for much of it had been scavenged for parts. Most of everything around here had already been scavenged for parts.

One of the man’s hands held up a cloth to protect his face from random eddies of sand and the blazing sun, while the other hand was out in front of him, gripping a compass.

In places like this, there was no magnetic north. The biggest magnetic field in this wasteland emanated from the home vessel: a cobbled-together tin bunker, sitting like a shining beetle on top of a sturdy peak. That was where Dean Winchester was headed. Only a short way to go, and then he’d be home.

Dean put away his compass once he got to the base of their little rocky summit. Stairs were cut out of the rock, and once Dean fell into the shade, he dropped the cloth from his face and began to climb.

 

 

Halfway up the rock, he stood to catch his breath. He gazed upon his homeland, smearing dust-grey sweat from his forehead onto the cloth that bound his arms and hands. Nothing moved but the sand. Dean stood straight and began to climb again. Almost there.

Dean reached the top of the stairs and he was nearly knocked back down; the wind buffeted at his body and tried to haul him to his death. With a cry of determination and a great forward thrust of his weight, Dean marched on, making his way to the home vessel. The sun glanced off the greenhouse at the back, doing its utmost to blind him. He squinted and pushed on.

 

 

Shredded cloth billowed about his face, flapping against his goggles and making it harder to see the entrance. He felt for the roller door with his hand, patting around until he found it. In one movement he rolled up the shutter and toppled inside, chased by a flurry of golden sand and a stripe of scalding desert sun. He slammed the shutter down behind him, trapping himself in the blissfully cool shelter.

Dean sighed in relief, blinking hard as he lifted his goggles. The home vessel was dark compared to outside, and all he saw were blurred shapes, jagged surfaces lit by reflected candlelight.

“What’s that smell?” Dean rasped. He breathed in deeply. “Cas, is that cinnamon? The hell’d you get a cinnamon candle, man?”

No answer.

Dean shoved his dry tongue over his sun-cracked lips, doing nothing to soothe them. “You want coffee? I’m making coffee.”

Dean edged his way through the small vessel, hands gripping the rope-wound bars at either side of the walkway. He wasn’t steady on his legs yet; his muscles were used to stomping up moving sand dunes, so standing on a flat surface was disconcerting.

Once Dean made it to the gloomy kitchenette, he reached for the coffee maker. He knew exactly where it would be, and he found it even without sight. It was a familiar shape under his hand. He patted the side to check where the warmth came up to: it was full enough for exactly two mugs of coffee, and cool enough to let Dean know that Castiel hadn’t made coffee in the five hours since Dean went out.

“Cas,” Dean called again. He voice echoed slightly. “Coffee? Come on, let me know, I’m not wasting this shit if I don’t have to. We got enough water for a couple days.” The last part he muttered only to himself. Cas already knew. Dean just needed to assure himself that his team wasn’t about to die of thirst.

When there was again no reply, Dean sighed and switched on the coffee maker anyway. It began to gurgle. Cas was going to get coffee whether he wanted it or not.

By now Dean’s eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark, and when he turned right, he could make out the shapes in the communal seating area. Around the edges of the small room there were cushions and pillows and airplane seats, all lined up against the corrugated iron walls. It was too dark to see the patterns on the cushion fabric, but the dainty decorative mirrors stitched into the designs glowed with daylight. Small shafts of dusty sun streamed in from open slats near the tops of the walls, and the wind howled as it passed by the gaps.

“Heya, buddy,” Dean uttered. His friend Castiel was kneeling on a cushion in the middle of the room, his back straight and his shoulders slumped, hands resting palms-up on his thighs. Dean only saw his back, but he had no doubt Castiel’s eyes were resting closed, totally relaxed.

 

 

Dean began to strip off his outerwear. Raggedy sand protection came off first, then he tossed his goggles onto a nearby cushion. He sighed in relief as he unbuttoned his jacket, sending a hiss of loose sand to the floor. He bent to unzip his boots, and he kicked them off with a triumphant sigh.

“No luck out there, big surprise,” Dean murmured, his voice neutral. “Did the other teams find anything?”

Castiel just breathed.

In... out.

Then again.

The coffee maker wheezed in the silence.

Dean smiled. Castiel’s ability to have total control over himself had always impressed Dean. Once the guy was focused, there was no breaking his concentration.

Dean looked ahead, to the dark wall in front of Castiel. A shrine was set up on a knee-height table there. It was piled up with all sorts of imagery and symbols, including a fat Buddha figurine, two large candles and an offering for the Wiccan God and Goddess. Beside that were two crucifixes – one draped with the carved body of Jesus, one made of plain wood. Then there was a hand-sized statue of Vishnu, one of Castiel’s most trusted Hindu deities; right beside Vishnu was Ganesha, the elephant-headed god. There were no idols allowed in Islam, but that didn’t stop Castiel from wanting a symbol from each of his faiths: underneath his cushion there was an Islamic prayer mat, and he faced east, towards Mecca.

Lastly, and most prominently, Castiel’s shrine displayed a framed picture of the search team who had claimed this particular wasteland: Dean and Castiel’s found family. It was a black-and-white photo, taken months ago. Dean still couldn’t see clearly, but he was so familiar with the picture that he imagined he saw it.

In the photo, Dean and his brother Sam stood with their arms hung around Castiel’s shoulders, all grinning. To Dean’s right stood Charlie Bradbury and Claire Novak, pressed arm-to-arm, both laughing at something Dean had said. In front of them was old Bobby Singer, staring at the camera, all stern-like, but there was a smile in his eyes. Leaning on either side of Bobby’s wheelchair were Rufus Turner and Jody Mills, Bobby’s two closest friends. Beside Jody, Donna Hanscum laughed most raucously at Dean’s joke, folding forward so far that her face wasn’t even in the photo. One corner of the photo was blurry, and the blur formed the shape of Kevin Tran’s hand giving the camera a thumbs-up. Someone had to take the photo, and it was his camera, after all.

“Coffee’s almost done,” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s thigh with his bare foot. “Maybe the big answer you’re searching for is swimming around in the H²O. C’mon, buddy, I don’t wanna talk to myself all evening. You force me to admit it, but I kinda enjoy your company.”

Castiel completely ignored Dean. Not even a raised eyebrow.

Dean snorted. “Whatever. More coffee for me, then.” He turned away, heading back to the kitchenette.

On the way he passed the wall of the vessel’s controls, and he flipped up a few switches, sending power to the water processors. He’d be wanting a shower soon, but there was no water unless their hydrogen supply was fed into the oxygen. The vessel began to vibrate slightly, and a low hum churned through the metal walls.

A few LED dots blinked in various colours, signalling the different gases and minerals the team’s search crafts had discovered that day. No huge numbers showed up in the glowing seven-segment displays, but Dean was too accustomed to the sight to be disappointed.

He checked his wristwatch. Nearly seven. Might as well check in with the team now.

“Hey guys,” Dean said, holding down the transmission switch. “How’s everyone doing?”

The crackle of a sand-blasted voice eased through the radio speakers. “ _Nothin’ to report,_ ” Bobby’s response came in first. “ _Just sand dunes and trash. Found a copper pipe though. Could be good for som’n._ ”

“ _Yeah, right,_ ” Rufus huffed. “ _What’re you gonna do with that, huh? Melt it down and make pennies?_ ” He was in the same search craft as Bobby – at this point they’d probably been arguing about that pipe for hours.

Dean exhaled, smiling. “Sam?” he asked.

From Sam’s search craft, Kevin’s voice coasted in, less crackly than Bobby and Rufus’. “ _Tiny deposit of methane._ ”

“Enough to burn dinner?” Dean grinned.

“ _That wasn’t my fault!_ ” Kevin blurted. “ _Sam, stop laughing! I’d only ever used solar power before. Bet you anything you wouldn’t have done any better._ ”

Dean chuckled, feeling the corners of his eyes pinch tight. “Sammy, how you holding up?”

“ _We’re good. Gotta say, Dean, when it comes to fieldwork, I get along with Kevin better than you. He either drives the search craft or he lets me drive, he doesn’t sit there and complain I’m in the wrong gear._ ”

“At least I trust Kevin to land a search craft safely,” Dean said. “Get here in one piece and maybe I’ll go easy on you next time we drive out.”

“ _Whoa, whoa,_ ” Kevin said hastily. “ _I’ll take Sam’s impromptu driving lessons any day over sitting at home with nobody but Mr. Spiritual Connection and his precious vegetable garden for company. Now I’ve had a taste of freedom, no way I’m going back to manning the radio, day in, day out._ ”

Dean snorted. His eyes drifted to Castiel, who hadn’t moved an inch. “He _is_ kinda quiet.”

“ _He likes you better than me anyway,_ ” Kevin said. “ _Now I think about it, he likes you better than all of us put together. Hint hint._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes, even though there was nobody around to prove himself to. Since nobody was looking, he allowed himself a smile. “Yeah,” he said, licking his lips. “Well.” He ducked his head and tried to stop smiling, but he couldn’t.

“ _Once you boys are done gossiping, I’d like to get a word in edgeways,_ ” Charlie’s voice broke through Kevin’s channel, and Dean now heard the hum of a different engine in the background. “ _We’re bringing back a wire net and part of a satellite dish. It’s massive, you might wanna clear a space out back. I think it fell halfway from somewhere mid-thermosphere, it’s mostly burned up. Metal’s salvageable though._ ”

“Nice,” Dean said, nodding seriously. “Claire? How—”

“ _I’m fine,_ ” Claire snapped.

“ _She’s still recovering from the cactus incident,_ ” Charlie said gently. “ _Maybe go easy on the coddling._ ”

“ _I said I’m fine!_ ” Claire insisted to Charlie. “ _I’m just pissed ‘cause we didn’t find any hydrogen, that’s all. I was hoping I could have a shower that lasted more than two minutes._ ”

“That’s life out here, kid,” Dean sighed. “It sucks. God, don’t I know it. I’d give anything for a good, long soak in a jacuzzi right about now. Best I can say is that we’ve got drinking water stocked for a few days. I’m going light on the coffee, honest.”

Claire scoffed, without any real malice.

With a small smile, Dean turned his attention to the members of the team on the fourth search craft. “Jody, Donna, how you doing?”

Dean released the transmission switch, waiting for a response. After a few seconds, a static hiss met his ears, and it didn’t let up for quite a while. Dean squinted, trying to make out the words; he heard parts of a voice, segments of breath.

He held the switch down again. “Didn’t quite catch that, repeat?”

The static blurred with the sound of a search craft’s engine, and all of a sudden the broadcast became clear. “ _—nd there we go. All fine and dandy, cap’n,_ ” Donna smiled. “ _Whew, those dunes really get in the way, huh._ ”

“Just glad to hear you’re okay,” Dean said, with genuine relief. “Find anything?”

“ _Zilch, nope, and nada,_ ” Donna said, with undampened cheer. “ _We’ll head back when it starts getting dark._ ”

“Gotcha,” Dean agreed. “Go easy on that craft, it still needs new hover-pads. Jody, I’m makin’ rehydrated pasta bake for dinner, how’s that sound?”

“ _Like heaven,_ ” Jody called. “ _Less cheese on my portion, if you wouldn’t mind._ ”

“All right,” Dean smiled. “Good to know you’re all doing fine. See you when you get back.”

A crackle of everyone trying to sign off at once met Dean’s ears. He grinned and let go of the transmission switch. They’d all be back in a few hours, and he looked forward to seeing them.

Dean inhaled, enjoying the smell of cinnamon and coffee mixing on his palate. “Mmm,” He sighed. “You know, that smell reminds me of winter,” Dean said, sidling up to his silent companion. “Can’t believe how much the world changed in a decade. We used to be able to get coffee brewed in a store. Can you even imagine that happening nowadays? Jeez.” He shook his head, putting both hands on his hips.

Nostalgic thoughts quickly strayed from Dean’s mind, and his eyes drifted to the crown of Castiel’s head. His dark hair was mussed like he’d rolled out of bed only seconds ago, and his jawline was a day past clean-shaven. Dean bumped Castiel’s thigh with his foot, but his eyelids didn’t even twitch. “How the hell are you so zen?” Dean asked, of course expecting no answer. “What even happens in your head when you’re like this? Do you even _hear_ me asking if you want coffee?”

Dean tilted his head, smiling dazedly at the other man. In a playful way, he nudged Castiel’s head with the backs of his knuckles. Castiel’s head rocked with the touch, but then re-centred.

Dean bit his lip thoughtfully, then ruffled Castiel’s hair. Nothing.

Dean clicked his fingers beside Castiel’s shoulder. Still nothing.

Dean bent down and blew air into Castiel’s ear. Castiel inhaled sharply and his eyes scrunched up, and Dean chuckled. “Gotcha.”

Castiel quickly returned to meditating, blank-faced and unmoving.

Most people would’ve assumed Castiel had given a very obvious hint: Castiel wanted to be left alone. But Dean was certain he’d been set a challenge. Castiel liked to challenge Dean whenever he could, and Dean wasn’t one to back down.

Dean crouched and blew air in Castiel’s ear again, but this time Castiel was expecting it and there was no response.

“Ohh, you’re good,” Dean said, somewhat flirtatiously. “But I’ll bet you the last cookie you can’t handle this.” He leaned in and set his fingertips on Castiel’s belly, tickling at the world’s softest t-shirt (which, by the way, Castiel had stolen from Dean). Castiel did nothing at first; his muscles only tensed the tiniest bit. So Dean worked his fingers faster, tickling closer to Castiel’s ribs.

Castiel flinched, and he squirmed off his cushion with a yelp.

“Ha!” Dean shouted, crawling after Castiel.

“Dean! I was trying to concentrate,” Castiel laughed, shoving at Dean’s head. Dean ducked out of the push and launched himself to Castiel’s side, one hand either side of his stocky waist. “De-hean,” Castiel laughed, his eyes bright when they caught Dean’s. “Nonononono—” He collapsed into uncharacteristic giggles, his eyes tight shut, his body wound into the fetal position, hands pressed to his stomach, unable to keep Dean from tickling him.

“That’s what you get,” Dean jeered, quickly straddling Castiel’s thighs. “That’s what you get for blanking me! C’mere— No, don’t crawl away...”

“I— I can’t,” Castiel cried, giggling and squirming and kicking his bare feet at Dean’s as they wrestled on the metal floor, knocking elbows into cushions and almost kicking the candles off the shrine. “This isn’t fair, Dean! You ambushed me!”

“Oh, you wanna play fair?” Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow. He panted, sitting back on his heels. He spread his arms, waiting for Castiel to pounce. “Come on, then. No tricks. I’m wide open.”

Castiel stared, catching his breath. He grunted as he sat up slightly; he wasn’t any younger than Dean, and as full-grown men they didn’t find crawling on the floor to be the easiest thing in the world. Castiel eyed Dean, calculating. Dean watched his blue eyes dip down his body and back up, finding a good way to attack.

Without warning, Castiel jumped at Dean, both hands out to grab Dean’s stomach. Despite expecting to be tickled, or perhaps because of his expectation, Dean started laughing before Castiel even moved his fingers. He collapsed in a fit of laughter, eyes scrunched shut, hands balled into fists.

Laughter overwhelmed him, and all thoughts of retaliation simmered to nothing as Castiel’s fingers pulled joyous sounds from Dean as if Dean was some odd breed of marionette. Dean squealed and roared and rolled over, gasping for breath and wriggling away from Castiel’s hands on instinct, though he knew consciously that he enjoyed the touches and the uncontrollable laughter, and he wanted more of both.

He let Castiel battle him into the nearest cushion pile, and Dean gripped the fabric and let it soak up his tears, his body writhing like a live wire. Castiel’s laughter echoed Dean’s – and he wasn’t even being tickled.

Dean eventually reached his limit; he couldn’t breathe, and all his muscles were screaming. “Stop,” he breathed, gasping through his giggles. “Stopstopstop—”

Castiel let Dean go, since he always did as Dean asked, but even the reprieve didn’t keep Dean’s skin from twitching and his legs from jumping with the aftershocks. He curled up tight around himself and laughed, snickering and sobbing to himself.

When Dean looked up through bleary eyes, Castiel was there beside him, lying down to watch Dean. He had such a fascinated expression on his face, his usually-curious eyes now sort of... tender. Sort of sweet.

Dean smirked at him. “Another round?”

Castiel nodded, eyes on Dean’s lips.

Dean fell on top of Castiel, palming his t-shirt up and rubbing his hands on Castiel’s skin. Castiel shrieked, a sound Dean didn’t even think such a deep-voiced fellow could make. Dean watched Castiel’s eyes deliriously travel the wall, his laughter punctuating both exhale and inhale. His skin seemed to glow hot like Dean’s did, and though they were both short of air, they were never short of mirth. Castiel’s laughs came out as breathless huffs, over and over until he _gasped_ , red in the face, tears running across his cheeks and into his ears.

Dean didn’t let up, not for a second. He rolled over and presented his body openly to Castiel, waiting for his hands – and they arrived soon enough. Castiel’s fingers were weak and he wasn’t trying very hard any more; he was visibly dizzy and kept folding over into the cushions face-first, his legs sprawled out on the floor. Dean’s feet tangled with Castiel’s, and to his delight, he discovered that the soles of Castiel’s feet were also ticklish.

“Deeean— Oh, oh no,” Castiel sobbed, dragging his torso off of Dean’s, flumping down beside him. “Nhhh. Stop. Stop. That’s enough. That’s— _Ah_! Stop now.”

Dean cackled at the ceiling, watching dust twirl in the sunbeams. “Gah-hahhh,” he sighed, before returning to panting like a dog. His heart was still pounding, and his throat had been huffed raw.

They shared a long, long moment of silence, broken by huge puffs of breath, and the occasional leftover chuckle.

“Hmmm,” Castiel murmured.

Dean rolled his head so he could look at his friend, and found Castiel was already looking back, smiling. He had a magical kind of twinkle in his eyes.

Dean smiled back, and though it was equally as genuine as Castiel’s, his smile took a while to form. All of Dean’s body was aching, and his mouth was parched. But he felt alive like never before, all abuzz and tingling. The fondness in Castiel’s gaze didn’t do a thing to lessen that feeling, either. The longer Dean held his eyes, the more intrepid Dean felt.

...What if...?

Dean stared for a while longer, just in case.

Castiel’s eyes lowered to stare at Dean’s lips, and he drew a deep breath, so deep that his chest swelled and his chin lifted. Then he exhaled, and Dean’s eyelids fluttered closed, feeling the warmth of Castiel’s body rushing against his face. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of intimacy, and for a moment, heat blazed inside him. When Dean opened his eyes, Castiel still held his gaze.

Dean smiled. What if, indeed.

He inched his face forward, then waited to see if Castiel had understood the signal.

Castiel blinked a few times, then shut his eyes. Was he waiting for a kiss...? Or...?

“Cas— Are you taking a nap?”

Castiel peeked open one eye. “You tired me out.”

“Oh, I tired you out, did I?” Dean retorted. He sat up, sinking a hand down his face. He still had dirt on his hands from outside. He smiled gently, shaking his head. “You know what I could do with right now? Coffee. And then a shower.” He flicked his eyes to Castiel. “You want a drink? Water’s hot already.”

Castiel sat up. He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again.

Dean frowned. “What?”

“Dean,” Castiel said, as if prefacing a question.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“Have you ever meditated?”

“You mean like you do, with the big shrine and the two-dozen gods and prophets and offerings? Can’t say I have. Prayed, maybe. But meditated, nuh-uh.”

“I recommend you try it. I think it might help you understand how... how and _why_ I don’t respond when you ask if I want coffee.”

Dean watched Castiel get to his feet. Like Dean, he was wearing harem pants, tight at the waist and ankles but wide and loose at the knees – and for one weak-willed moment, Dean let his eyes settle on Castiel’s ass. He licked his lips and turned his face down.

“Come on,” Castiel insisted, looking back at Dean. “The coffee can wait.”

“Can it?” Dean scowled. “Can it really? I’m _thirsty_ , man.”

“Try this first,” Castiel said. “The fact you’re thirsty might actually help you.”

“Uh. _How_ , exactly?”

Castiel flicked his fingers to indicate that Dean ought to stand. Dean did, and then Castiel beckoned him to his side. “The point is to let go,” Castiel explained. “When you’re doing it right, you almost... leave your body. Pain and suffering and conscious thoughts get left behind.”

Castiel knelt on the floor, and Dean sat cross-legged on the cushion Castiel usually sat on, facing the shrine.

“Close your eyes,” Castiel said. He closed his eyes first to demonstrate.

Dean stared for a second, then his closed his eyes too. He sat straight, because Castiel never hunched when he meditated.

“Everything you feel, focus on that,” Castiel said. As Dean no longer saw him, Castiel’s voice shaped like a circle in his mind, flawless and round. “If you’re thirsty, feel it. If something itches, let it take you over.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Shhh,” Castiel said, putting a hand gently on Dean’s knee. His hand was warm. “Don’t talk. Just become aware of your being. Be nothing but yourself. Shut out the room. Just focus on your body.”

Dean tried. He swallowed twice, once because his mouth was dry, but the second time he swallowed because Castiel’s thumb stroked his knee and it seemed natural to gulp.

The room went voiceless for a minute. But it was not silent. The wind howled, the vessel shaking at the force of the gusts, sand shards slamming up against the metal hull. Dean tried to ignore it all, and ignore Castiel’s hand, but he’d never done this before and he was used to being hyper-aware – he’d trained himself to be – so to say this was a difficult task was an understatement. He could feel Castiel’s heartbeat on his kneecap.

“Now,” Castiel said, ever so softly. “Let go. Take whatever itches or hurts, and throw the feeling into the abyss outside of you. Take your thirst and drown it with your mind. You can find a sense of bliss that way.”

“Easier said than done,” Dean muttered.

“Hush!” Castiel said, affronted by Dean’s utterance. “Concentrate.”

Dean sighed. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it go.

He spent another minute starting over, trying to block out the world. But it was so hard when his freshest memories included the sensation of Castiel’s fingertips running over his navel, his thighs pushed into Dean’s, the sight of his eyes watering and his cheeks flushed red, his crooked bottom teeth showing in his silly, gummy grin.

Dean realised he was smiling. He was smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt, and he didn’t really want to stop smiling. He turned his head towards Castiel, and he peeked open one eye. Castiel sat with his eyes shut, at peace. While Castiel remained unaware, Dean was completely filled up with admiration and affection for the other man, so much so that his heart felt like it was going to burst free of his ribcage. He’d take Kevin up on his offer, for sure: no way Dean was going out scavenging in the sun if he could spend all his time tending to plants and play-fighting with the wasteland’s most ticklish gardener.

Just when Dean didn’t think he could adore his peculiar friend any more than he already did, Castiel’s nose twitched, and he screwed up his face and lifted a hand to scratch it. Dean grinned, marvelling at how _cute_ that was. Castiel heard Dean’s small sound of amusement, and he opened his eyes.

Dean beamed.

Castiel blinked, smiling in bemusement. “What?” he asked, clearly confused as to why Dean looked so happy.

“Nothin’,” Dean said, licking his bottom lip, then biting it. “I just... kinda wanna kiss you right now. On the lips.”

“Kiss me?” Castiel raised his eyebrows. His mouth slid open, and he stared blankly for a beat. Then he shut his mouth, but his eyebrows stayed put. “Oh,” he said. He looked at Dean’s mouth, as if imagining how a kiss might feel. His gaze returned to Dean’s a few seconds later.

Dean examined Castiel’s expression, eye-to-eye, and he determined that Castiel wasn’t averse to the idea; a definite look of intrigue had stolen over him.

Dean supposed now was a good a time as any. He leaned in, hesitant at first, but when Castiel parted his lips, Dean sank against his mouth, head tilted, and sealed their lips together. Castiel huffed in surprise.

Overtaken by a warm, heartfelt enthusiasm, Dean cupped both his hands behind Castiel’s neck, bringing him closer, peach fuzz prickling under their lips. Castiel immediately relaxed, and his mouth opened against Dean’s. Dean broke the kiss, surprised by Castiel’s response.

Their eyes met briefly. Dean felt his face flush, as Castiel’s eye contact was intense, and _dear god_ , he looked like he meant business.

Castiel took over; he kissed Dean with some force, his hands mirroring Dean’s, either side of his jaw. Dean found himself breathless, his heart pounding, his muscles tight with excitement. Thumbs roughened up Dean’s stubble, his mouth taken apart by soft, passionate bites.

Castiel made a little noise of enjoyment, and Dean practically melted. His hands slipped to his sides and he shivered in pleasure.

Chuckling, Castiel pulled away. He still held Dean’s face in his hands. All Dean could do was blink, smiling like a total goofball.

“Why did you want to kiss me?” Castiel asked, in a most reasonable tone of voice. He let Dean go, and Dean sat, slouching, rather overwhelmed.

Dean wet his lips with his tongue. “Uh,” he said, blank-minded. He shrugged a shoulder. “For good luck? Who knows.” He grinned, tilting his head. “Why’d you kiss me back?”

“The idea seemed... pleasant,” Castiel replied. His eyes roamed Dean’s face, apparently taking in the sight of his blush and his sparkling eyes. “I believe you felt the same gratification. You like being kissed.”

Dean lowered his chin, rubbing a hand through his dusty hair. “Yeah.”

A fritzing sound came from the hallway, and Dean turned his head.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Did you hear that too?”

“Must be someone trying to get through. Hup!” Dean got to his feet, flinching when his knees throbbed in complaint. He’d overused all his joints today.

Dean made it to the communications board, and he found one light flickering. Search craft four. He punched the transmission switch and asked, “Jody? Donna? What’s up?”

“ _We got incoming, cowboy,_ ” Jody called, elation in her voice. “ _Metal detectors were going crazy. We tracked down the source and tapped an old shipwreck’s reserves. Couple tanks of hydrogen, and near two tons of sheet metal. More than enough spare parts to repair the broken search craft. Heck, we could build another craft with all this junk. We hit this week’s jackpot early, folks!_ ”

“ _Yes_!” Dean hissed, punching the air, one-two-three-four. He turned to Castiel, who approached with a smile. Dean grabbed his shirt front and kissed him full on the mouth, since he’d always wanted to do that in the heat of the moment, and he was finally allowed to.

When Dean pulled away and let Castiel’s shirt go, Castiel wore a smile that lit up his eyes and showed just the slightest line of his gums. “It would seem that your good-luck kiss worked better than all my praying,” Castiel mused.

“Damn right it did. M-mm!” Dean smooched him again just because he could.

 

 

While Dean and Castiel had been distracted, the others conversed between themselves, and the morale of the team had conjunctively risen to the point where Rufus had begun singing old war songs in celebration.

With a huge grin, Castiel tapped into the conversation. “We’ll clear a space in the junkyard for the new wreckage.”

“And the satellite!” Dean interjected. “And I’ll get dinner going.” He rubbed his filthy hands together, considering all the things he had to do, wondering which order to do them in.

“Congratulations, everybody,” Castiel said, speaking to the team. “You’ve all worked very hard today. I’m proud of every single one of you.” He glanced up, catching Dean’s eye. “And I’m not ashamed to say that I’m very fond of you. I honestly don’t know what I’d be without you. I’d... I’d go so far as to say that I love you.”

Dean’s heart thudded a bit too hard.

“ _Wow, Cas, really piling on the touchy-feely hippy stuff today,_ ” Bobby grumbled.

“ _Aw, leave him be, he’s just being his usual angelic self,_ ” Jody replied. “ _Keeps us all going, doesn’t it?_ ”

Claire’s voice cut through the other words of static, and Dean heard her say clearly, “ _Oh, please. We all know who he was really talking to._ ”

The radio went quiet for a bit.

Then came agreement and laughter and quiet, affectionate jokes. Dean didn’t catch too much of what was said before Castiel flipped a switch and the radio went silent.

“What? No, don’t turn it off, what if there’s an emergency?!” Dean rushed forward, trying to turn the radio back on. Castiel took his hands to stop him. Dean met his eye.

“I’ll turn it back on in a minute,” Castiel assured him. “While it’s just us, while they’re still out there, I just wanted to make sure you and I... Well... I...”

Dean swallowed, but there was no moisture in his mouth to swallow. “You just wanted to tell me, huh?”

Castiel rolled a shoulder shyly. “It seemed easier if it wasn’t direct. They already knew how I feel about you, anyway.” He was still holding Dean’s hands.

“Yeah.” Dean shuffled his feet, smiling as he looked down. “I, uh. Look, I don’t wanna force it. But. Like. Thanks. And yeah. I liked hearing that. And obviously I... Um. Same. Y’know? They all know.”

Castiel smiled, nodding softly. He leaned in and kissed Dean’s cheek, then held himself there, breathing out against Dean’s skin.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s back and gave him a friendly squeeze. He breathed in his scent, letting it fill him up, all the way to the bottom of his lungs. Oh, good lord, _yes_. The smell of coffee, cinnamon, and Castiel went together perfectly.

Dean closed his eyes, swaying on the spot with Castiel still clasped tight in his arms. Perhaps he was simply exhausted, or his thirst was really getting to him, or maybe it was just the notable transcendence of this moment compared to every other moment, but just for a bit, Dean felt none of his pain, his aches, the itchy bit of sand between his toes, his fatigue, nor his thirst.

He did not feel nothing; he was not meditating. But he did feel bliss.

Pure, absolute bliss.

Dean smiled, nuzzling his face against Castiel’s shoulder and the world’s softest t-shirt, which hung a bit loose. He’d let go in a minute. But right now, this was all he wanted. Shower be damned, coffee be damned, giant space satellite, and two tons of sheet metal be damned. Held in Castiel’s arms was the place to be.

After a while, Castiel stirred, shifting in Dean’s embrace. “Dean?”

“Mmh?”

Castiel chuckled, pushing his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and neck. “I think I _would_ like some coffee.”

Dean rolled his eyes, smiled, and hugged Castiel tighter.

♥

**{ the end }**

♥

 

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING FOR 6 MONTHS BECAUSE I'VE BEEN SICK WITH COELIAC DISEASE AND THEN SUDDENLY???????  
> I think I'm slowly recovering, so as long as everything goes well, you'll finally be seeing more fics from me soon. If you subscribe [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) you'll get an email when I post something new, whenever that may be. I have plenty of other Destiel stories waiting to be posted when I'm well enough! (And, of course, there's tons more already posted. Go forth and indulge, my friends.)
> 
> ♥ [Reblog all the art??](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/142774637400/all-the-illustrations-for-my-57k-fic-tickle-fight)  
> ♥ [Reblog the one with the hug!!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/142774368125/so-i-drew-this-and-somehow-it-inspired-me-to)  
> ♥ [Reblog the one with the cuddling and the coffee!!!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/142774460730/one-of-the-illustrations-from-my-57k-deancas-fic)
> 
> By the way, during the time I've been incapacitated, something I've really appreciated is when anyone shares my work, through reblogs, or word-of-mouth – word-of-tumblr? – anything that gets more people enjoying my stories. Like most creative people, I thrive on feedback, and the fact I've had a nice comment in my inbox almost every single day throughout my hiatus has kept my enthusiasm for writing fresh and my spirits lifted. On that note, please hit kudos if you enjoyed this! Encourage me to get better faster so I can write more! ♥


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